


Stay

by substanceblack



Series: A Haphazard Huxloween [2]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: "cute" little glimpse into the life of the pair in highschool, M/M, dead fathers which seems to be a reoccurring theme now, delivering a prompt at almost three in the morning once again, minor alcohol use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2016-10-02
Packaged: 2018-08-19 02:02:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8184829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/substanceblack/pseuds/substanceblack
Summary: DAY 2: BonfireIn which two drunk teens grapple at comfort and something more.





	

“I wish _my_ dad was dead,“ Kylo comments after a long stretch of silence between them, crassness aided by the all but empty bottle of wine cradled loosely in his grip.

“You don’t.” Hux admonishes.

At this, Kylo stirs, twisting gracelessly to face Hux from his position across his lap. Brows furrow under a mess of dark hair and stupidly expressive, warm, and willful eyes scrutinize Hux from below, glistening in the light of the bonfire before them. Like a hound Kylo’s caught scent of that which he pursues (which is any trace of turmoil in Hux after the ordeal), and like a fox Hux will be chased down into his hole; killed, inevitably.

Hux thus diverts his gaze, pointing it instead, determinedly, into the flame where a bouquet of sympathy flowers has long since shriveled and burned. Kylo is persistent though, and under the orange glow of the fire and Kylo’s gaze Hux’s face grows steadily redder. “Stop staring at me like that,” he eventually snaps.

Surprisingly, Kylo complies.

As the bulkier teen rolls over, facing away from Hux, the beginnings of a pout contort his sour features. Hux hates it, hates _him_ , but after a minute of regretful silence begins combing through his hair in apology, numb fingers finding a purpose at last. Too often the past week Hux has bitten his nails down to the flesh and dug the tattered things into his palms, ever restless, unconsciously trying to _feel_. He’s been startlingly numb since he was called down to the office four days ago.

Hux had been in the middle of a test, Biology, he recalls, and the school counselor’s room had been falsely warm, cheery. Her voice had been equally artificial and Hux remembers hating it, remembers digging his long fingers into the armrests of the needlessly soft chair he’d been sat in while she broke the news in placating tones. Hux’s father had passed not an hour before in some hospital he’d never heard of. Stroke, she’d told him. The words hadn’t hit Hux like they were supposed to, but still something heavy had settled in his gut, something cold over him. She’d told him he didn’t have to return to class, that he could stay in her prop of an office or have another relative pick him up. Hux had returned to class anyways, unwilling, truthfully, to invest any more time or emotion on the matter.

It’s Friday now, feeling years from what transpired Tuesday. Father’s funeral had ended hours ago and Hux finds himself now on a log in the woods behind Kylo’s house, still in his suit though the jacket rests draped over Kylo’s shoulders instead of his own. Despite being such a warm-blooded creature, Kylo had moaned about the cold until Hux gave up his jacket. Both boys were entirely aware of how easy a trek back to the still visible house for a coat would have been, and neither had acknowledged it.

Hux glances down again, eventually, and spotting the question forming on Kylo’s lips plucks up the bottle looted from the Solo-Organa cellar to better deal with it.

“...Where will you go now?” Kylo finally relinquishes. It’s clear by the range of expressions that crossed his face in the minute previous he’d formed and reformed the question over in his mind to feign proper detachment.

Hux sees straight through it. Kylo’s face has always been too telling and the tightened grip of the boy’s fingers around his waist is hardly subtle. It’s clear Kylo’s _afraid_ ; afraid to be left, afraid to be forgotten, afraid to be replaced.

Hux finishes off the wine and delays his response, perhaps cruelly. His endearment with Kylo and always the desire to kick him, shallowly, just to see him react are impossibly tangled. Hux is sick, and terribly aware of it.

“Back home, if your deadweight ever elects to cease holding my thighs hostage.”

Kylo grunts at this, easing marginally, but makes no move to let Hux up which is exactly how Hux prefers it. He sets the empty glass down by his own foot and catches the bonfire, reflected in the green glass, glinting almost sinisterly. It was supposed have been a purge. Along with the leaves Kylo had swept before Hux had arrived and the bouquet Hux had tossed in shortly after arriving, a bundle of sympathy cards had since been eaten by the now dying flames at Kylo’s suggestion. Hux fantasizes briefly about also burning the wretched, empty house he still has to return to at some point tonight.

“...The house has been paid off for years,” Hux continues, gradually. “And Father left more than enough in his savings to cover utilities until I graduate in May. I have a job, anyways.” He tacks the last bit on belatedly with the recognition of how spoiled and dependent he sounds.

Kylo, in spite of this, still seems to be struggling with something. He doesn’t look at Hux at all when he asks a minute later, uncharacteristically quiet, “...And then?” Though his lips don’t betray them, the rigid posture of his spine, his bruising grip on Hux, and the almost angry expression on his face all reveal the words he hasn’t spoken. _Stay with me. Don’t leave me, please._

Hux is caught almost off-guard by this, not because he doesn’t know where _he’ll_ be when the time comes, but because Kylo thinks to be included in it. Hux has always been aware of Kylo’s childish devotion to him, but hadn’t fathomed it stretched so far as to extend past graduation where Hux was under no illusion his few friendships and… relationship, would persist.

Though Hux is a Senior and will graduate in May, Kylo remains a Junior, bound to another year of high school while Hux is free to explore his newfound freedom. Drunk, and elated in the brief surge of power he feels at Kylo’s admission, Hux grins wickedly once he finds himself. He carefully brushes hair away from the other boy’s ear before leaning down to whisper, devilishly, “Oh, I could go _anywhere_ , Kylo.”

Kylo shudders under Hux at the hot breath to ghost his ear, then stiffens at the words to follow. As he senses he’s being made fun of, he shoves Hux away, far harder than necessary, and stands.

Hux’s grin falls into a sneer at Kylo’s oversensitive response as well the new ache blossoming in his shoulder. “Sit down, Kylo.”

Kylo doesn’t move, not for a long minute. When he finally does, it’s to take a step away from Hux and towards the house.

“Kylo dammit, _sit down._ ”

Kylo keeps walking and the action quickly floods Hux with panic. It was fear more than malice in his voice. This isn’t the first of Kylo’s fits; far from it, but tonight it feels different. Every step Kylo takes from Hux feels inexplicably permanent. Perhaps it’s his recent loss, but moreso is that Kylo’s the only person Hux has ever felt legitimately attached to (not out of obligation), and that he’s losing him to the cruel words that always slip out, inevitably, cutting into those around him with a careless lethality. It’s why no one ever _stays_...

Friends, family, therapists...

“Kylo,” He repeats a third time, voice faltering as he rises from his perch. Pinpricks assault his legs, the limbs asleep after so long in his prior position. Hux hardly notices. “Wait. I’ll….” He’ll _what_?

Hux’s throat grows suddenly, unbearably dry.

He croaks, “I’ll sell the house.”

This, at least, gives Kylo pause.

Hux breathes out unsteadily, testing his luck, the legitimacy of this temporary limbo, the realness of the woods around them. Somewhat affirmed, he risks a step forwards. He’s unsteady, feet pressure-numb, still asleep. He glances down. He’s always hated these dress shoes.

“I’ll sell the house.” He repeats more certainly when he glances back up to Kylo’s dark silhouette before him. “When you graduate,” Hux takes another step closer, then threatens lowly, “And you’d better graduate, as I’m not supporting your unemployed ass indefinitely,” This earns a huff from Kylo. Laughter, Hux realizes, almost relieved. “I’ll sell the house. We’’ll have enough money and the _freedom_ to go anywhere.”

 _We_. Hux repeats in his mind, still startled he’s said it. He presses numbly forwards still, drawn like a moth to flame, or rather, he recognizes glancing briefly backwards, away.

_We._

“Come with me Kylo,” Hux finally relents, soon within an arm’s reach of the boy. Everything's out in the open now, and he’s terrified, still babbling. “Stay with me, please. I-” His dry throat, his fear at the confession, his disgust with himself all trap the words in his throat and still he forces them out. “Fuck Kylo, I need you. I… I-”

Hux hopes the words that were going to leave him next aren’t the three he thinks they were but it doesn’t matter, ultimately, because Kylo finishes the sentence for him. Two oversized hands land on Hux’s shoulders and suddenly there’s a pair of desperate lips crashing over his, warm, clumsy, senseless; just like the boy wielding them.

Kylo’s almost sloppy, always has been, but Hux has never felt so relieved at the pinch of his lip catching in Kylo’s braces, Kylo’s fevered breaths, loud against his face, the spit soon coating both their lips. They’re kissing, wildly, carelessly, and then, without recognizing it, they’re both soon laughing just the same. Breathless, passionate; things only end when the need for air grows too great.

Hux brings a sleeve to his lips to dry the spit still lingering there, hoping also to conceal the thoughtless grin that has since split his face as though Kylo hasn’t already witnessed it. Hux is still inches from the other, illuminated in the light of a near-dead flame. He jumps still when Kylo drops his jacket around his shoulders, returning it at last.

It’s warm, Hux finds, noting finally how _cold_ he’s been.

A broken, almost-laugh leaves him at the realization.

Kylo frowns at this, looking remarkably still concerned, even through all of this. His arm falls around Hux’s shoulders, warm and solid. It feels right - belongs there, indefinitely. “Let’s go inside, okay, Hux?”

Hux agrees but doesn’t answer, too startled to find himself suddenly free of the heavy numb that’s been over him for so long. Preoccupied, he wishes just for a moment he could communicate without having to open his mouth.

“...Stay the night.” Kylo continues after a long minute, and something about his voice prompts another nervous laugh from Hux. Kylo’s expression darkens. “It’s not a joke, Armie,” and then, near begging, the boy soft and gentle once more. “Please.” He sounds close to crying.

Pitiful.

Before Kylo damages himself any further, Hux slips an arm around his waist, dragging him closer. He rests and head on his shoulder then nods, sleepily, words referencing things far beyond this one night.

“I’ll stay.”


End file.
